Your Side of the Pond
by Conjure Lass
Summary: Hopeless romantics live on both sides of the pond.


Hey everyone!

I know this wasn't really what my Bleach fans were wanting, but I felt like posting a thing or two here of my Hetalia stuff. Loves!

Title: **Your Side of the Pond**

**This Side**

Alfred's woodsy, soft cologne lingered on the pillowcase in the hours after his departure, an embarrassing distraction that Arthur hated himself for indulging in. There were a dozen other things that he should have been doing; there was paperwork to be filled out, new bills to be mulled over, and petitions to be read. Arthur could have been doing any one of those things, but instead he found himself sprawled gracelessly on his bed, cheek pressed pitifully against the pillow that Alfred had been using the night before.

He hated this part. The uncomfortable, achy feeling that foamed up in his belly every time Alfred went back to the states, leaving him alone and soppy. It was, of course, part of the reason he'd been so reluctant to begin a relationship in the first place. He hated being this open and vulnerable, even if no one else was around to see it.

Arthur drew in another deep breath, holding it in his lungs momentarily before slowly letting it out, allowing the scent to settle in his nose. Alfred's cologne was hardly what one would consider expensive, nothing that screamed 'stylish' or 'classic', but it had a delicate quality that Arthur found reassuring. Granted, even Alfred's fabric softener was something of a reassurance when he was feeling particularly lonely, but the cologne was what he pined over most.

Truly, he'd become a pathetic old man.

The late afternoon sun picked that moment to burst through the clouds, sending a long ribbon of light streaming across his eyes, temporarily blinding him. Shifting to get away from the glare, he was surprised to feel something hard and lumpy poke against his ear, press annoyingly to his temple. Rising up on his elbows to see what it was, Arthur tugged at a small corner of fabric jutting from beneath the pillowcase.

An argyle sock-hopefully a clean one-had been half-filled with what felt like marbles or rocks and tied into a loose knot. Curious, he held the tiny package in his palm for a moment, feeling the weight of it before finally working at getting it open. A sweet smell drifted up as soon as the knot was free, familiar; standing in his kitchen with warm toffee dripping off his fingers and smeared across his lips or laying on the couch letting candy melt on his tongue while he watched the rain run in tiny rivers down the windowpanes.

Slowly his palm filled with bon-bons, a tiny note, written on a piece of Arthur's stationary, fluttering to the floor shortly afterwards. Stooping down, careful not to spill his sweets, Arthur fished the paper up off the floor and proceeded to wrestle it open one-handed.

_Hey babe!_

_Just thought I'd leave you something sweet to cheer you up. I know you mope on my side of the bed when I'm not around. Miss you already._

_Love you._

_Al_

Arthur felt a blush begin to warm his cheeks, glancing pointedly away from the note as though Alfred could see him through the paper. Ducking towards the sweets, he curled one up onto his tongue and let it melt there, rolling to his side and depositing the candies in the curve of his belly for easy access.

He kept the note clutched in his fist as he pulled the pillow close and buried his face in it, hiding a pleased smile in the folds of fabric, hidden from the world.

**That Side**

The carpet was a mess of papers fluttering in the evening breeze coaxed in through the living room windows. Alfred sat in the center of the maelstrom, the eye in a storm of torn dictionary pages, with quite possibly the sappiest smile he'd ever had plastered on his face.

This was the most romantic thing _ever_! His Hollywood heart was positively _soaring_.

He'd already looked at every page twice, but Alfred leaned forward to sift through them again anyway, just once more, lifting one up to read. Squinting in the late afternoon sunlight, he felt his heart flutter at the single word circled in pencil before shaking his head at his own reaction. He was such a sap.

**smit-ten**: _very much in love_.

Alfred bit his lip to hold in a girlish giggle and moved to lie on his back, letting the paper drift from his fingertips before reaching to grab another. He brought it close to his face, pressing the tip of his nose against the paper as though he could feel Arthur's hand holding the pencil, slowly marking the page. He'd have been using an old-fashioned #2 pencil, and his fluffy eyebrows would have been drawn together tightly in thought, shoulders tense, eyes sharp and concentrated. It was the way Arthur did everything. Focused. Thoughtful. He'd even gone so far with some of the words as to write a more thorough explanation of his feelings in the margins, as though the definition weren't quite enough, not exactly what he felt.

**be-witch**: _to enchant; charm; fascinate_.

Chuckling under his breath, Alfred hummed the first few bars of IBewitched/I and rolled onto his stomach, pressing his burning cheek to the carpeting. Samantha, eat your heart out; Arthur and his imaginary friends could beat your twitchy-witchy nose any day. Smothering his laughter in the floor, Alfred imagined Arthur wiggling his nose and wearing a pointy black hat. Wearing _only _a pointy black hat. It was a nice thought, really.

Maybe he'd bring it up the next time they played "dress up".

Grabbing two more pages, Alfred read the definitions repeatedly, hungrily, sure that this was the first time in his life that the dictionary had been anything but boring. He was also sure that Arthur would never have let him live this down if he could have seen him. Giggling and blushing like a crushing fourteen year old was totally not heroic.

Then again, Arthur had been the one to _do _this, so maybe it made them both hopeless romantics.

**be-lov-ed**: _greatly loved; dear to the heart_.

The sun had long since set below the horizon, the gathering darkness making it hard for Alfred to see, but there was still enough light left to crawl around on the floor and stack up all the papers he could find into a somewhat organized pile. Running his hand across the top one, he smiled almost shyly, fingertips coming to rest on the few simple words that made him feel as though his belly were filled with molten lava.

**hap-py**: _characterized by or indicative of pleasure, contentment, or joy_…and written in the edge nearby, indicated with a swirling arrow…"_Which is to say, you make me happy. Not that you're happiness incarnate or anything. Only to me_."

If someone had asked him two hundred years ago if he thought he would ever be the cause of Arthur's happiness again…he would have called them crazy. But now, staring at that tiny word, his heart lodged in his throat, Alfred couldn't help but feel like things had sort of come full circle. Smiling softly, he cradled the papers in his arms and rose to his feet, resisting the urge to kiss them even if no one was around to see him do it. Not only was that stupid, but would probably taste like shit.

Quietly, he made his way to his bedroom to hide the new treasures in the back of his underwear drawer (where all important things go), pausing momentarily to pick up his digital camera from the kitchen table. Grinning, he shifted his bundle to one arm and reached down to unbutton his pants, letting them trail down his hips as he ascended the staircase.

Arthur was _so _getting a box full of masturbation material tonight.


End file.
